Japhet, in Search of a Father eBook

“I was afraid so,” replied Melchior, “that
was one reason why I obtained leave to speak to you.
Wait a moment.”

Melchior then put the candle down on the ground, and
went out, and turned the key. I found, on looking
round, that I was right in my conjectures. I
was in a cellar, which, apparently, had long been in
disuse. Melchior soon returned, followed by an
old crone, who carried a basket and a can of water.
She washed the blood off my head, put some alve upon
the wounds, and bound them up. She then went away,
leaving the basket.

“There is something to eat and drink in that
basket,” observed Melchior; “but I think,
Japhet, you will agree with me, that it will be better
to yield to the wishes of Sir Henry, and not remain
in this horrid hole.”

“Very true, Melchior,” replied I; “but
allow me to ask you a question or two. How came
you here? where is Nattee, and how is it, that after
leaving the camp, I find you so reduced in circumstances,
as to be serving such a man as Sir Henry De Clare?”

“A few words will explain that,” replied
he. “In my early days I was wild, and I
am, to tell you the truth, in the power of this man;
nay, I will tell you honestly, my life is in his power;
he ordered me to come, and I dare not disobey him—­and
he retains me here.”

“And Nattee?”

“Is quite well, and with me, but not very happy
in her present situation; but he is a dangerous, violent,
implacable man, and I dare not disobey him. I
advise you as a friend, to consent to his wishes.”

“That requires some deliberation,” replied
I, “and I am not one of those who are to be
driven. My feelings towards Sir Henry, after this
treatment, are not the most amicable; besides, how
am I to know that Fleta is his relative?”

“Well, I can say no more, Japhet. I wish
you well out of his hands.”

“You have the power to help me, if that is the
case,” said I.

“I dare not.”

“Then you are not the Melchior that you used
to be,” replied I.

“We must submit to fate. I must not stay
longer; you will find all that you want in the basket,
and more candles, if you do not like being in the
dark. I do not think I shall be permitted to come
again, till to-morrow.”

Melchior then went out, locked the door after him,
and I was left to my meditations.

Chapter XLVII

A friend in need is
a friend in deed—­The tables are turned and
so is the key—­The
issue in deep tragedy.

Was it possible that which Melchior said was true?
A little reflection told me that it was all false,
and that he was himself Sir Henry de Clare. I
was in his power, and what might be the result?
He might detain me, but he dare not murder me.
Dare not! My heart sank when I considered where
I was, and how easy would it be for him to despatch
me, if so inclined, without any one ever being aware